


An Intricate Exploration

by alexaplaysgames



Category: Last Legacy (Visual Novel)
Genre: Biting, Blushy Felix, Bottom Felix, F/M, Library, M/M, Multi, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29536305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexaplaysgames/pseuds/alexaplaysgames
Summary: It's (pretty tame) library smut.
Relationships: Felix (Last Legacy | Fictif)/Reader, Felix/Player | Cosplayer (Last Legacy | Fictif)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	An Intricate Exploration

Felix hums as he brushes his fingers over the long rows of books, his black fingernails dragging against the endless array of colourful spines. The sunlight that streams in through the curtained windows paints the dust-lined shelves especially bright. It’s a comforting, familiar sight; Fathom Tower’s library is overflowing with a wealth of forgotten knowledge, though these pages of words he hasn’t dared touch since many years ago, back when-

Back when he was young, and foolish, and sick with love.

His fingertips halt where the brush against the books, quivering. _No_. He will not indulge in such memories. He spent years wallowing in a miserable state of self-pity, and for naught. Though the urge to fall back into the past, to slip into the comfort of his own loneliness, is less and less frequent as of late. It has been replaced by your soft smiles, the gentle teasing lilt of your voice-

“ _Felix_ ,” your breath is warm against his shoulder and he shivers, despite himself. “What are you doing?” _That_ , that right there, is what has heat settling deep within his stomach, spreading to settle in his cheeks. The way your words seem to settle around his heart, how you do it so unknowingly, unflinchingly- his vast vocabulary can’t begin to describe the feeling that bubbles in his chest. He swallows it back, a bit reluctantly, and whirls around to face you.

“Research,” he scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “As I have been for the past, say, four hours.”

You take a step closer, the corners of your lips curling up, like the worn pages of the books he reads, and he aches to kiss that soft curve, to feel the press of your mouth against his own. He wants lean forward so badly that his muscles twitch, his mind racing and his heart a frantic, repeated thump in his chest. But then he remembers what happened before, the last time he allowed himself such frivolities, and the sudden urge withers to ashes where it lies.

Another step from you, and now he is caged between the shelves at his back and you, pressed against his chest. He wonders if you can feel his breath catch, his heart stop. Your arms are at his sides and he wants to protest except he _doesn’t_ , because he _likes it_ , improper and indulgent and selfish as it may be. Just a step forward and you would be touching him, and _gods_ , how he wants you to touch him; he thinks about it constantly, how your hands on him before had felt oh so deliciously sweet.

“I’m bored,” you breathe, interrupting his thoughts, and your breath ghosts over his face, rustling the strands of his hair that have fallen free for their tie. He looks up at you, then, his eyes as wide as silver dinner plates, cheeks aflame, yet when he speaks his voice is surprisingly steady.

“Pity. That’s quite unfortunate for you, my dear.”

You’re unfazed, as always. Ever a calming presence, the antithesis to his harried self. “Entertain me, would you? Stella makes poor company, you know. We could have much more _fun_.”

He clears his throat and- _drat_ , his voice is certainly a tad shaky now. “The research- “

“Isn’t going anywhere. Besides, I’m worried about you, spending so much time cooped up in here.” Your thumbs sweep circles under his eyes and Felix sighs, his eyelashes fluttering. “I can wait to get home.”

He cracks an eye open, a small smile playing across his lips. “ _I_ should be worried about _you_. Spending so much time with Stella, have you nothing better to do?”

“I do. _You_ ,” you purr, your voice once more taking on that velvety smooth undertone, like silk, wrapping tight around him and- _oh_. That’s a thought. You above him with that very same wicked smile, his hands bound tight above his head-

Felix has to bite his lower lip hard, teeth sinking through tender flesh, to stifle the whine that threatens to spill past his lips at the thought. He knows, though, that you know the effect you have on him. He can read you reading him in the quirk of your brow, can almost see the reflection of his own cherry-red flush in your irises.

And he wants, he wants _, he wants_ , so badly that it hurts.

This is where it stopped before, back in that inn, when you had pulled away with a contemplative look before you left him to sleep. Even then, he had squirmed afterwards against the sheets, imagination running wild with the sheer possibilities of what could have happened if you just hadn’t _stopped_. That was safe. This, undoubtedly, is not. If before was toeing the line, this is blindly jumping over it; dangerously close to territory he swore he’d never tread again, when he proclaimed, stubbornly, that he needed _no one_.

But he needs you. Like he needs to breathe. Like he needs to feel the thrum of magic buzzing through his veins. He can’t think over the ache of his own desire, eyes tracing the curve of your chin (you look spectacular, illuminated by warm, soft light), mind fuzzy with tangled threads of want, leading from his head to his toes.

You lean in, nosing at his jaw, the place behind his ear that leaves him weak. Felix makes a startled, gasping noise that makes spurs you on, ravenous. “Is that what you want, Felix?”

 _Is that what he wants?_ What a strange question. How could he want for anything but you? How could he crave anything but your touch? You’ve driven him out of his mind with madness since the moment you first met. His head hits the shelf, dark strands of his hair messy around his head, and his breath comes out barely above a whine as he says, “Yes. _Please_.”

Oh, how nice that one word sounds between his pretty, parted lips.

You move until the distance between your lips is all but nonexistent, interested to see how far you can stretch your teasing before Felix breaks. Before you are left to hypothesize, however, his hands are tangling in your hair, pulling your forward against him as his lips part against your own. _Greedy_ , you think; there’s a certain hunger in his kiss, and though his skin is cold kiss lips are feverishly warm against your own.

That’s when you pull away, delicious cruelty lacing the action, leaving Felix bereft and chasing your lips. He makes a faint disappointed sound as his eyes blink open, lips downturned in a pout. The sight is enough to make you chuckle, brushing his hair back behind his ears. Your hand slips behind him, fingers grabbing blindly at the books at his back-

“Read to me,” you whisper against the skin of Felix’s cheek, slipping one of the books from its slot on the shelf.

He blinks, confusion written plain across his features. “I thought-”

You silence his protests with another kiss, one that has his gasping into your mouth, your free hand cupping his face. The other takes the book you’ve stolen from its place and presses it insistently into his palms. “Read to me, please?”

The book is a rich, deep forest green, gold cursive glistening across the front in elegant swirls: _An Intricate Exploration of the Velan Language_. Felix looks down at the cover in his open hands before he raises his head, as well as a brow. “Why… do you wish for me to study a language I can already speak?”

“What I _want_ -” you say, voice a low and pleasant buzz against the shell of his ear, “is to bend you until you snap. I want to make a mess of you.”

His eyes widen, taking in the hungry look in your own, one that speaks clearly of your urge to devour him whole. _To make a mess of him_. As if he isn’t ridiculously dishevelled already, lips kiss-swollen and hair mussed. He glances down again at the white pages before him, but over the racing of his own heart he can’t make out a single symbol of the language he should know, _does_ know, like he knows how to breathe. But perhaps he’s forgotten that, as well. His chest feels mind-numbingly tight.

He squeezes his eyes tight and exhales against your thumb, pressed against his lower lip. When he opens them again, your gaze is warm and endlessly kind; he takes a piece of you and tucks it away within himself, soothing his nerves. How ironic it is, he thinks, for a necromancer to desire the life that shines in your bright eyes.

Felix parts his lips and begins to read.

It’s pleasant, you think, to hear the way the words roll off his tongue. You fixate on the press of his lips with each syllable; though you can’t comprehend a single phrase, you drown in your fascination. You want to feel the words rumble in his chest. You slip your hands under his shirt and set them against his stomach, feel the vibrations as he speaks. Felix’s breath hitches. He stammers out the last of a sentence before he lets the book drop to his side, his usually cold skin beginning to warm under your hands.

“ _Please_.” That’s the second time he’s begged so far. You wonder if you can drive him to pleading even more.

You sweep your thumbs over his hipbones. “Please what, _hm_?”

You’re in a library, of all places, a location meant to symbolize order, professionalism, _propriety_ , and this, your bare skin against his own, is illogical, improper. But he’s burning up, and all he can do is whisper, “Touch me, _please_.”

You grin. Felix watches as you sink to your knees.

You hook your index finger into a beltloop, slowly inching down the fabric over his hip to expose more of his skin. You mouth at the tender flesh there and he whimpers; he barely registers your voice when you say, “You’re not reading.” Yet, he knows the familiar tone, the one that says he only gets what he wants if he’s _good_.

“I can’t,” he pants. Your hands are still on him; it’s only fair. Yet his reply steals your touch from his body and earns him a reprimanding tut.

“I suppose I’ll have to stop, then.”

He nearly chokes on his denial, desperation for your touch burning his lungs. Felix’s hands fumble distractedly as he raises the book still clutched between his fingers and begins to recite the paragraph anew. His voice is most likely shaky, but he cannot bring himself to care, lost as is he to the press of your mouth against his skin.

With the end of the first page begins your fingers sliding the fabric of his pants over his thighs.

“I liked that,” you hum, your tone light and deceptively innocent. “What is it about?”

Oh, you are devastatingly cruel in the games you play. Doling out cards even as your hands are mapping pathways across his skin, your breath blazingly warm. As every simple brush of your fingertips is gnawing at his concentration. “Ancient literature,” he manages to gasp, “poets, _novelists-_ ”

“Please- please, _please_.” Felix clutches the shelf above his head with one hand, all thoughts of reading a distant memory. The dewy sheen of his skin, the expanse of his throat as he tilts his head back, desperate, are milking your heart for all its leniency.

The last of his desperate pleas dies behind his lips as you finally take pity on him and press your mouth between his thighs. His grip on the wooden shelf turns white-knuckled, body arching in a sinuous curve against the shelves as his hips jolt forwards before you press them back, pinning him like a butterfly beneath your palms.

Your tongue drags in long, hot streaks against him and Felix gasps, his mind a technicolour mess and simultaneous static, everything and nothing all at once, but you are _everything_ , every place your bodies touch ignites with a spark light kindling, spreading until he is consumed. _Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-_

But you do stop, leaving him to whimper at the sudden loss of touch. His throat feels dry and cracked around a stifled sob. Your teeth sink into his inner thigh, setting colourful bruises to unfurl like a spring flower. Felix’s eyes flutter shut, breath hitching on a moan-

He can see it now, behind his closed eyelids, how he will trace the marks you leave with his fingertips when he’s alone, sinking into memories in which you are just a ghost, but he is equally as ruined. For years, he’s been chastised by his father for his preference for black, but he would gladly sport a multitude of colours if they came from you.

“Keep reading, baby.”

And he does, this time without complaint, though the words that spill from his lips are more reflex than recitation. Each word is punctuated by the sharp heat of your mouth. _You called him baby_ , he thinks, as his words once more twist and curve around his stuttered breaths, his fingertips clutching the pages hard enough to rip them, shred them like his sanity, slipping through his fingertips like sand. The sentences he strings are incoherent, now, lost by his mouth and stolen by yours, working him over in steady strokes. Between his sentences come his steady pants, breathless moments where he squeezes his eyes shut and replaces them with _please_. Felix brings his hand down against his mouth to stifle his noises, but he can’t help the way he _moans_ under your tongue-

You pull away to kiss the freckles above his waist, his stomach, an infinite splattering of constellations littered across his skin. Your breath washes over him in a wave as you stand, coming face to face; Felix’s eyes are wide as they meet yours, black pupils swallowing his icy gray. He swallows around the pants of your shared breath and you trace the movement, map the flush that spreads across his nose to his cheeks and his ears, underneath the sweat-soaked strands of his hair.

You take his chin between index finger and thumb, lean in. “Such a good boy. So good for me”

You didn’t think his flush could deepen any further. Not for the first time, he’s proven you wrong. How lovely it is to learn the many ways to paint him shades of red, from sunset to cardinal to crimson.

“Do you want to touch me, now?”

The fading sunlight casts silhouettes over your features, glistens off the glossy shine of your lips. He wants to touch you, only you, but the words turn sticky as they inch up his throat, as they always do, and Felix can only nod, settling his forehead against your own. “ _Yes_. Always.”

You press your mouths together as his long fingers slip open the buttons of the fabric around your waist before they delve between your parted thighs. The well-circulated comments of the young necromancer’s laziness do not preclude his talent, and s is true for everything else, he is _good_ at this, without any semblance of effort- if a bit hesitant in the steady motions of his fingertips. His wide, stormy irises trace every twitch of your features with something akin to reverence, watching the scrunch of your nose, memorizing the hitch in your breath.

He can still see your face, your features lost in pleasure, when you twine your fingers through his hair and tug his head back towards the books, exposing the curve of his neck to your mouth, where you bite between the strands of his necklaces and mark him once more. You moan your praises against the skin of his throat as your free hand drops to where your mouth had been, when he had been teetering on the edge of bliss. Your touch sets his nerves alight once more, gasping, _gasping_ , and he feels, for once, so _alive_.

When you kiss him, merely a brush of lips, swallowed by each other’s caresses, you can feel every tremble, every sigh, as he can feel your own, mirrored and reflected in the circle that exists between your touches. When Felix takes your lower lip between his teeth, gentle and tentative, soft until he pulls, you can feel the resultant string rush down your spine, down to your toes, curling in your shoes against the cushy carpet. His touch quickens against your slickened skin and you work to make your own do the same, feel him shiver as you shudder-

You pitch forward under a wave of heat, drop your head to Felix’s shoulder and inhale, let his scent of sweat and the spices he uses in his spells wash over you. His sharp intake of breath, the harder press of his fingertips against you as your hips shift forward sends you tumbling, gasping, pitching of the edge of the pleasure his touch grants you.

You muffle your moans against Felix’s shoulder, press your sighs into his hair. Wave after wave washes over you, little sparks lighting up your nerves as you breathe into his skin, sending goosebumps spiralling out across his flesh.

His hips shift slightly against you, little plaintive noises layered under his weighted breaths, and you quicken the motions of your own hand as you nip along the shell of his ear. You whisper affirmations under your breath like a holy chant: how sweet he sounds, how he’s yours, until you lower your voice and call him _good_. That’s when Felix breaks apart with a soft sigh, before he tilts his head back and moans, dark eyelashes fluttering shut. You stretch to kiss his parted lips, leave him leaning against you until his shivers gradually subside and he exhales against your open mouth.

Then, you both bask in the silence and your heavy breath, the streaks through the curtains reflecting off the sweat that beads your skin. It feels, for a moment, like just existing. The serenity is simple and sweet.

Felix raises his gaze to your face, silhouetted against the sea of books, and wonders, briefly, what he ever did to have fate deem him worthy of you. He’d thought, before, that to be so close to you would be nerve-wracking, but instead he finds himself gradually sinking into your softness like quicksand- encompassing, comfortable. 

He lifts his hands to cup your cheeks, presses his parched lips to yours ever-so-sweetly. He traces his thumbs over your eyebrows, then nuzzles his face into your neck, closing his eyes. He laughs, sounding utterly wrecked. “I think you very well succeeded in making a mess of me. Of _both_ of us.”’

Your clothing is carelessly rucked aside, your skin sticky and warm. Dark marks bloom across Felix’s shoulder, and your stomach rolls with thrill at the sight.

“I think so. And I plan to do it many, many times more.”

Felix’s breath catches, and you smile. The feeling that floods through you is like sunshine, warm and happy, bright as the white pages of the book that lies forgotten on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @alexaplaysgames


End file.
